


Family of Between

by Zinc (zincviking)



Series: A Trevelyanian Inquisition [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Slight spoilers, The Hero of Fereldan is kind of a dick, how i played him anyways
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-15 14:07:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5788096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zincviking/pseuds/Zinc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follows Morrigan, The Hero of Ferelden, and Kieran while at Skyhold with the Inquisition. </p><p>Terrible summary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> My Grey Warden is a cruel mage, who delights in manipulating those around him. He connected with Morrigan with their candor, and the sex was great. But I feel like time tempered both of them, but he's still a dick. This is was just a sort of one-shot idea, but I might continue with antics idk.
> 
> edit: definitely continued lolol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hero of Ferelden makes his appearance at Skyhold. Morrigan reflects, briefly, on their relationship and past. Kieran forgets his manners. Skyhold will have rumors for years.

Morrigan heard the yelling and cheers and a few shouts of surprise from the garden. Her heart clenched and she gave a wary glance to Kieran who was playing a game of chess with another refugee boy. They both looked up towards the ruckus and she knew, as big as Skyhold was, it could never contain his presence.

“Worry not, I will see what is going on, and come back for you.” She promised, running her hand over his hair gently. He smiled, and she left, walking with assurance along the path up to the door that led to the Great Hall.

Entering, she saw everyone of importance in the Inquisition within the grand room. The Inquisitor himself sat on the throne, overlooking the chaos. All of his Inner Circle were tossed among the nobles, and his Advisors lined the path that he would have to walk to reach the throne. Indeed, even the Champion of Kirkwall was in attendance, along with his pet former-slave elf.

She always knew where he was. He still hadn’t taken off that ring, from all those years ago. At first it annoyed her. Why would he cling to the past like this? But as Kieran grew, she became fond of the small acts of kindness and...adoration? Yes, adoration, that he gave her. Was it Dorian and the Inquisitor, exchanging meaningful glances, roses, kisses, and chocolates, murmuring pet names to each other as they comforted each other after hard missions or long nights? Of course not, they weren’t disgusting.

She and Him...He understood who she was. And She knew exactly what he was.

He had only sent her two letters in all those years. The first, the day after she had given birth to Kieran, a strange white raven gave her a letter. It wasn’t long, or involved. All it said was, “May pride swell like the sea/ for he is the sea/ And the World/ and all the Stars.” And she had to admit, while she thought less of him when she received the letter, he was right. Kieran was all that, and much more.

The second was, “Careful. A fool did what I wished to do.” Only days later did she hear about the Chantry explosion and understood.

These were acts of adoration from him. A man who killed an entire clan of dalish in favor of wolfmen, a man who struck down the wife of an Arl just to see blood magic in action. A handful of words, and she knew he loved her, still loved her. A handful of words, and she sent some of her own back, and they were in Between together with Kieran while he grew. She saw it as practicality. Two adults in a dangerous Between to protect the most special boy in the Thedas. Though she would never say it, especially not to his face, but she was comforted by his presence. Not because he could take care of things that she could not, she was more than capable. But there were two pair of eyes on her son, to protect him.

And when the time came to leave, for him to leave, he did so without a fuss. He hugged Kieran, and gave her a kiss, and was gone through a mirror into another world. That was the last time she saw him, disappearing through that faded glass into a new world.

Until now.

She didn’t see him just yet as the crowd parted and adjusted for him. No command, just his presence. She moved passed a few Orlesians without a word and stood between two guards to watch. He was dressed in an armor, similar to the Champions own, with clawed hands and sharp edges, but it wasn’t made of metal. No, she knew the scales that lined his armor, protecting his body. Flemeth and the High Dragon of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Still, after all these years, hard as diamonds, black and red. Their bones were the gloves and boots, carved and slotted together. She had studied his armor while in Between, fascinated by it.

His mantle was feathered, similar to the Commander’s ridiculous mane, but not so audacious. Just a lining, an accent of power, of grace. A black hood with strange runes in silver lining the edge was over his head, but she could see the power reflected in his eyes. Yellow. White. A shift in his posture and it would be gone, hidden again, but she knew better. The hood continued into a cloak that covered one shoulder, the other shoulder covered in a spiky pauldron poking out of the feathers. He stood taller than most of the men in the Great Hall, the Commander included. Yes, it seems only the Qunari warrior was taller.

And in one clawed hand, a staff, head and half taller than him. It was petrified wood, she knew, though she could imagine others just saw strange stone. Within it were frozen in time insects and animal bones, trapped within the tree as it died, leaving them dead. The top was adorned with crystallized lyrium. Hidden within the staff were runes, she knew, that augmented his power.

“Amell.” The Commander greeted, stepping forward, breaking the heavy silence as he walked through the hall.

“Amell?” Hawke asked, thick brows furrowed heavy over his dark amber eyes. Amell? Ah...perhaps that is why she found Hawke so handsome, if foolish and about as charming as goat.

“Amell.” The voice was deep, a rumble of thunder, and she felt her skin erupt in goosebumps but she kept her face neutral. “Good to see you, Cullen. Not mad from mages, yet? You have quite a few in attendance.” A low blow, but she didn’t expect anything else from him. That was him. Low blows and cruel words and amazing sex. She still loved his candor.

The Commander’s jaw clenched as the ambassador girl stepped forward, “It is an honor to welcome you to Skyhold, Hero of Ferelden--”

“Of Thedas.” Ah, yes, there was his ego. “But, if that’s a problem, Amell is just fine. Ser Amell. Ser.” There wasn’t a hint of a joke, but she could feel his smirk in the tension. “Leliana, you haven’t aged a day.” He greeted and, for a quick second, Morrigan felt the spiked annoyance of jealousy. What had she let this man do to her? Leliana didn’t blush, didn’t make a sign that she remembered how he gave her a night she could never forget.

“Mordred, can I assume you knew we were looking for you?”

“How could I know that?” he asked as he moved on, an intimidating presence amongst all nobility. Indeed, it seemed only two were simply curious, the Inquisitor and Solas. His eyes found all of the Inner Circle, as if he knew who they were before he ever stepped inside. “Magister-Altus, strange elf girl, a warrior-”

“A Warden,” the Commander corrected as he passed over Blackwell.

“Truly?” there was a long pause before he chuckled, “truly...The qunari, the elf,” he paused again before he asked something in elvish, too quiet for her to hear. Solas answered in kind before the Hero moved on. “A strange boy, the Seeker Pentaghast,” Cassandra glowered, “the dwarf, and finally, Madame Vivienne, it is so good to see you.”

“And you as well, my Dear,” Vivienne murmured politely, but her hands were tuant.

Morrigan turned, returning back to the garden as the Hero finally turned to the Inquisitor. Kieran was still at the chess table, though his partner had vanished, probably too curious for his own good. “Come, Kieran. There’s a surprise for you.” Her boy jumped up, excited, and followed her. She could see he was anxious, excited, and she knew that he wasn’t a dumb boy. He knew who his father was, and soon, all of Skyhold would.

While she was very aware this could happen, she didn’t think it would. Mordred was aloof and uncaring about people at the best of times. At the worst, he killed off entire clans, and sentenced war heros to death by dull axe. At his extreme worse, he delayed his quests to watch a town burn (poor Lothering). She wondered if he would’ve done it if he had known his cousins lived there. And that one of them was here now.

They entered the Great Hall, the Inquisitor’s calm, tenor, commanding voice, accented with the strange flatness and roll of the Marchers, answering questions and asking them in turn, and his voice returning, deeper than the Inquisitor’s, Ferelden, and cold.

“Papa!”

Morrigan frowned as she tried to grab Kieran before he bolted out but she was too slow. She didn’t expect him to do this, in Court, where he knew to be quiet and polite and charming. No one stopped him, though the Advisors’ eyebrows were in their hair. He turned, pulling his hood back to reveal his dark hair and thick scruff, a wide grin on his usual stoic face. Kieran collided with the man, hugging him tight around his middle, avoiding the spikes.

“Hello.” It was all he said, but Morrigan sighed. The damage was done, and everyone in Skyhold knew who the father was. As it was, she was grateful that the Inquisitor kept a straight face.

“Perhaps we should move this into your study, Josephine,” he said as he stood from his throne.

“Oh! Oh, yes, I think that would be wise. Champion, if you would like to join us.” She said gracefully, gesturing for the Advisors and the Champion to enter the room to the side. The Hero looked up and made a brief eye contact with her before he ruffled Kieran’s hair again.

“Go on. I’ll see you after, Kieran.” Kieran nodded, a simple red color covering his cheeks as he realized his outburst and quickly returned to Morrigan’s side. And the Hero was gone, slipping into the side room as the door closed with a soft thud. People started to disperse and she took Kieran back into the gardens. But even as the door closed behind her, she heard the Tevinter mage loudly proclaim, “Well if that isn’t interesting, I’m not sure what is.” She slammed the door shut harder than needed before composing herself again, and taking him back to the chess board.

“I’ll play with you, Kieran.” She said as she sat across from him. “You may choose the color you want.”


	2. A Gift

He was sitting in the great hall. Cullen watched the Hero from Vivienne's balcony, holding the report she had supplied about Orlesian troop movements in the Exalted Plains. He knew it was creepy, staring at the man, but he couldn't help it. It had been ten blighted years since he saw the mage, and, yet, he was still so angry. Despite his appearances now, simple leather pants with a linen shirt and boots, Cullen knew he was dangerous. He willingly destroyed a phylactery of a blood mage, and then saw that blood mage free onto the world. And what Leliana had told him of the Hero's other accomplishments did nothing to sooth his worries and fears. They should have never sought the man out. He was dangerous, and unpredictable. In Cullen's opinion, he was the embodiment of why magic was feared. 

Vivienne approached to his side, watching the man as well. "He's revolting," she murmured, in her crystalline voice. "I wish I had never met him." 

"Did he out play you in the Game?" Cullen asked, just as soft. Her laugh told him the answer that which he already knew. No one out played her. Cullen straightened, nodding to her. "Thank you, for the report," he said in way of a farewell as he went to descend the stairs into the Great Hall. As he passed Mordred, a sudden urge to just _understand_ seized him and he sat across from the mage, setting the report to the side to take up a glass of wine. 

The Hero didn't look up from his book, a warm bowl of soup nearly forgotten in front of him. His fingers toyed with the end of the spoon as he read a book that Cullen thought looked very old. It was clear he didn't care to greet whoever sat in front of him, or that he just hadn't noticed. Perhaps he was every bit as human as the rest of them. Cullen politely disagreed with himself, before shaking away the thoughts. He wanted to demanded answers, but yet he could find no words. He sipped his wine, staring at the man. 

"You have a son." Well that was brilliant. Cullen inwardly flinched. That wasn't the best way to start this conversation, and he knew it. But it did get the man's attention as he looked up with eyebrows raised and a slight smirk on his face. But still, he looked bewildered. 

"What are you talking about? I don't have a son." 

Now it was Cullen's turn to be confused, returning the bewildered expression. Was he really going to lie about this? Nearly everyone in Skyhold saw Kieran run up to him yelling 'Papa', and absolutely everyone had been gossiping about it for the past few days. Everyone knew that the Hero of Ferelden and the Witch of the Wilds had a son together. It wasn't a secret. It couldn't be any more obvious if it tried. "Are you serious? He practically tackled you in front of the Inquisitor." Cullen pointed out as he gestured to the throne. 

The Hero's eyes followed the gesture before looking back at Cullen, the bewildered expression melting off his face to be replaced by a look Cullen knew all too well. He hated that look. The look like Mordred knew something he didn't, and that he was incredibly stupid for not knowing. The Hero gave a long dramatic sigh that made Cullen even more annoyed as he marked his page and closed his book. 

"Of course a Templar would assume he had claim to something he didn't." That really bristled Cullen, and he glared as menacingly at Amell as he could. The glare, he was told, that made recruits shit in their pants. The Hero just laughed, joyous. It made Cullen feel humiliated and foolish. "Oh, Cullen, do I look like a wobbly-kneed recruit to you?" He laughed again as he refilled Cullen's cup. "No. Kieran is not my son. He's Morrigan's son. I have no claim to him." 

"None?" Cullen asked, now very confused. The Amell he knew hated to share, and hated even more to give something up. He couldn't quite believe that he'd just let his son go without complaint. Cullen couldn't see him being a good father anyways, so perhaps it was for the best. 

"Morrigan was very clear with what she wanted. She asked me for a child on the eve of Battle of Denerim, and I gave her one. It was a gift, one that I was very eager to impart," he smirked, giving a quick wink and Cullen fought to roll his eyes. 

"But you don't have claim to him? Even as he calls you his father?" 

"Cullen, I _am_ his father, but he is not my son. I helped, sure, but she carried him by herself while I recreated the Wardens. She birthed him by herself while I was probably bedding some whore. She asked me for a child, and I gave her one. Who she chooses to let into his life is her choice." Cullen really wasn't following, and it must've been clear because Amell gave a frustrated sigh. "Okay, think of it this way: you make a necklace for the pretty girl in your village and give it to her. You don't tell her that you have rights to it as well, do you? No, you _gave_ it to her. She gets to decide when to wear it, and how, and where. Not you. Same principle. If Morrigan decides she wants me to help protect or raise him, then she only need ask. But that wasn't in the arrangement we made that night. And unlike some men, I can keep my oaths." 

Cullen clutched the goblet of wine before downing it in favor of punching the Hero straight in his smug fucking face. He slammed the goblet down before regaining his composure. "Thank you for that enlightment, Hero. I have work to do." He said, gathering up the papers as he stood. The hero made no motion to stand, or even give a farewell. He just opened his book and returned reading, absorbed by the knowledge as Cullen strode away. He was eager to set aside the reports and pick up his sword for some training after that irritating conversation.


	3. Not So Noble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is canon divergent. The timeline is a little skewed and characters met and meet at different moments than in game, but it all adds up to some canon spoilers so do be warned.

Maxwell realized how small the War Table Chambers actually were when most of his Inner Circle, his Advisors, and the visiting heroes were stuffed inside. Maxwell and Cullen had carefully marked on a separate, smaller map each of the small place markers just in case the table was jostled or otherwise moved. Josie seemed flustered with the very idea of this meeting, and Leliana seemed wary in the worst way. It didn't do much to set his worries to rest. The entire morning, Max had paced around the library, literally around the rail, following it, as he thought. Dorian had thrown a book at him each time he passed before he finally stopped the leader and forced him to sit down. "You're going to wear a trail in the stone, Amatus," he said soothingly as he took up some reports to read to Max in the meantime. 

Lunch was had, and then it was the meeting. Max steeled his nerves, and entered the chamber early. Cullen was there before hand, making sure all the markers were accounted for. Well, at least one thing was taken care of. Slowly, but surely, his Advisors, the Champion, Warden Alistair, the Hero, even Morrigan, and each of his Inner Circle made their arrival, save for Sera who loathed these meetings, and Cole, who was probably here but hidden since he didn't like the Hero of Ferelden very much. Max couldn't agree more. Who he thought was a noble and brave and valiant hero and Grey Warden turned out to be a selfish prick who just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Max took a glance to the Anchor upon his palm. Were all heroes just random coincidences? Or did he at least have a guiding hand, Andraste herself leading him down a path to victory. He had no idea, but it was comforting to think so. 

The first part of the meeting was easy: Delegating the roles of his Inner Circle for the battle at Adamant. He knew he wanted Dorian by his side, and the Bull. The last spot he wavered between a few of his Circle before he finally decided on Blackwall. It would be good to have another Warden alongside him in case they came across any wavering warriors who could be convinced to at least abandon the fortress. The hero chuckled, "Are you sure?" Which set Max's nerves on end. While he didn't expect all of his orders to be followed blindly, look at what happened to the Templars, he didn't expect a stranger to question his choice in party in his own war chambers. 

"Yeah, quite sure," he replied dryly, straightening and crossing his arms. "No more imput?" The hero raised his hand in mock defeat, a smirk across his smug face. The fact he looked so much like the Champion was very strange to Max. While Amell was smug and arrogant, Hawke came off more as a prankster with a sarcastic streak as long as the King's road. Which suited Max, since he was much in the same way. Indeed, he, Hawke, and Alistair made quick bonds of friendship since meeting, and it was comforting to have at least a few of his guests not be total arseheads. Not that he would say that aloud. Josie would probably faint if he did. 

They dismissed most of the Inner Circle to command and lead what they had been assigned. Most of them would be staying at Skyhold its self, to continue pursuing missions and objectives else where. Some, like Cassandra and Cole, would be on the battlefield, but in different areas. The ones he had chosen to storm the fortress with him stayed in the chamber. Cullen carefully move aside books, a tea set, even a skull, to lay out a map of the fortress that Leliana acquired. "We can't know for sure what they might've done to bolster their defenses, but they can't have built entire new walls or doors. Our siege equipment will make short work of it," Cullen started. It was routine and Max felt a bit more at home, adding to what the Commander was saying, and where the lines of defenses would go. "Hawke, where do you think you'll be best suited?" the Commander asked. 

"On the battlements and walls. Fenris and I can help secure those with your men. Less enemies there, the more time His Worship has to fuck up plans and take names," he smirked behind his scruff, arms crossing. Even outside his armor, Hawke was an intimidating man. His height and brawn made him an imposing figure, which is why Maxwell found his humor so funny. It just seemed misplaced coming from a man who could probably act as a personal siege machine himself if he really wanted to. Max laughed, bowing dramatically. 

"I live to mess with Corphyshit's plans," he said with a cocky smirk, leaning one hand on the table as he studied the map of the fortress. Josie sighed heavily and Cullen's lips twitched as he tried to remain stoic and serious. Leiliana gave a slight smirk, and, of course, Hawke and Alistair burst into stifled giggles. "Thank Sera for that one," Max grinned before gesturing back to the map, returning to business. "Alistair, you can stay with me. More Warden faces we can muster, the better we'll look to enemy forces. Dorian and I can provide support," Hawke snorted and Max gave a slight smirk as he continued, "Which leaves plenty of room for you, Blackwell, and Bull to carve a path through the Warden-Commander." 

Alistair agreed, and as they finished up those plans Max braced himself for the next part. Cullen, Alistair, _and_ Hawke all agreed this was a crucial question, seeing as what happened at Haven. The Inquisitor looked over to the Hero and Morrigan, who were both standing still, against a wall, watching and listening but making no comments. Even as he looked at both of them, he knew they were thinking _something_ but he really had no idea what. Their expressions were plain, as if they were all talking about the weather and it bored them but they were content to play polite. Max steeled himself before sighing. "Alistair told me how you have to kill an archdemon," he said to the Hero. Amell gave a knowing look to Morrigan, the across to Alistair before finally looking back at Max. 

"Nasty business. Simply dreadful." 

"So, can--" Max started before the Hero waved his question away before he could finish it. For once, the man looked as grim as he was. Dark circles beneath his eyes were more prominent, his mouth was a hard line, and his finally looked like a man who had seen war and carnage. Maxwell thought that he looked like a man who was confronting death. 

"I'm not doing it. Alistair can. He was _supposed_ to ten years ago. Volunteered and everything." 

There was a heavy silence. Everyone was stunned. Maxwell could hardly believe it. _Coward_ he thought coldly. The only person who didn't seem shocked was Morrigan, whose eyes flickered on the markers on the map of the fortress, thinking. Maxwell couldn't even believe this. The Hero of Ferelden, the one who saved Thedas as he liked to remind every noble that came passing through the Great Hall, was point blank refusing to at least try and kill the archdemon. He felt anger, disgust, and some form of pity. What a pathetic little man... 

"How the hell did you survive last time?" Alistair suddenly snapped. While Maxwell had seen them exchange some jokes and stories and amiable company together, it always seemed on thin ice. It was as if one wrong move and it would all break and they'd have to confront something dark and ugly beneath. It seems this refusal was the boulder than shattered the lake. "I don't care if it's a top secret warden secret, we were told point blank that the Warden who killed it would die. And there were only two wardens up there--" 

"Yes, and you had a broken leg and dislocated shoulder. Well done," Amell said with a roll of his eyes. He crossed his arms, eyes flickering to each face. Maxwell glanced around as well. Bull looked furious, Dorian look disgusted, Cullen had a mixture of the two, but it was Blackwall that truly frightened Max. His eyes were dark, and his face was pale, and his hands were clenched so tight into fists that they were completely devoid of any color. "It was magic," the Hero continued, "Magic created the blighted thing, in all it's ugly glory and what not. Unfortunately, it's a one time ritual. I didn't think another archdemon would rear it's ugly head ten years later. As it is," he said as he stepped forward and Maxwell instantly felt the urge to step back as the hero's dark eyes found his own, piercing into his mind, "It's not after armies, or countries, or the entire world. It's master wants the world. All it seems to care about it you," he pointed at Max even as Dorian stepped forward protectively. Max put his hand up to stop his lover, eyes hardening at the so-called Hero of Ferelden. "While I would gladly risk my invaluable life for all of Ferelden, and I did, I'm not going to do it over one man. No matter who it is. Your life does not outweigh mine." 

"Coward." Cullen sneered through clenched teeth. Amell didn't seemed affected. 

"Yes. I'm the coward, like I'm the only one who can do it. You have two _fine_ Wardens in these chambers right now. Have one of them slice and dice the giant lizard. Meanwhile, try not to think too hard on the fact that you all sought little old me just because you needed someone to die for your Maker-damned dragon. Should I assume I'm to leave by morning?" he asked calmly. Maxwell wanted to say yes. He wanted to get this man out of Skyhold. But even as the word was on the tip of his tongue, he gave a glace to Morrigan. The woman, the witch, for the first time since entering the chambers, looked up at Max. There was no emotion in her face, and only a barely seen glimmer of _something_ but he saw the slight shake of her head, barely noticeable. 

"That will be decided by my council in private," he said, eyes returning to Amell. "Do you have any interest in being in the battle?" He asked coldly. The mage shrugged. 

"No, not particularly. Never really liked battles planned out like this. At a table, with little figures. That shit landed ass up at Ostagar," Max saw Alistair's face drop, and he nodded, looking down at the table, "as it is, I think I could be of use in the Western Approach." 

"Why?" Cullen asked, serious and hiding his emotions. It was clear no one in the room liked the Hero much anymore. Save, perhaps, Morrigan and Alistair, and maybe Leliana, who had seen Amell during better years. 

"I've spent time there, trying to find some sort of answer for the Calling. Or, at least, a spell to block it." The room went silent again. And Max found his gaze glancing to Amell, then to Alistair, who, despite the laughs earlier, suddenly looked much older than he was. The calling drawed on both Alistair and the Hero, two of the greatest Wardens in this age. Even if one of them was a coward, he still did kill an Arch Demon. Max felt like something wasn't adding up, but he couldn't quite place his finger on it. He sighed, nodding. 

"Then you'll help us approach the fortress and provide support once we breach it. I suppose alongside me to help stop their ritual." 

Both Alistair and Amell made a face at that. "I still can't believe they'd believe this," Alistair grumbled, shaking his heads. "What are they thinking? Blood magic?" 

"They certainly are being foolish," the hero drawled, adding a marker for himself on the map, "Whatever magic is igniting the Calling, they should've realized that a simple blood magic ritual would't halt the Blights. In theory, it would have to be complex and massive. Which would defeat the purpose." 

"Would it?" Alistair asked with a shake of his head, as if in disbelief. 

The hero chuckled. "Say what you want, Alistair, but I still saved Connor. The ritual they'd need to stop the Blights? If such a thing did exist, it'd need more than some blood of Wardens, and there's no point in killing Thedas to save it."


	4. Sweet Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't see this being very mature, but there is a sex-scene in this chapter. It's not graphic, but a warning all the same.

Morrigan watched from the sofa as he packed away his things for the trip to Adamant. An old grimore, stained with blood, lay in her lap as she browsed through the spells and notes of an ancient witch. The silence was palpable, but neither one was giving in. He rolled his tunics and trousers around extra blades for his staff. He had kits for potion and poison making, a kit for polishing his staff (a slight smirk tilted her lips before she let it fall away), a kit for cleaning his armor. His own grimore, started so many years ago, lay on the cushion next to her, some pages sticking out from his additions to it. Everything had a place in his bag, and she watched as he meticulously placed it all within. He had only one bag for ten years of travel, she mused, so he must know how to pack it. But it seemed it was taking longer than necessary, so he was waiting for her to say something. Clever, but she wouldn't give in to him. 

His armor was laid out on their bed, the supplies needed to polish the scales and rivets next to it. She mused, for a moment, how similar he and his cousin were. Tall men, with broad shoulders. Hawke had more muscle, and was slightly shorter. It seems "stout like a dwarf" in their family was still monstrously big. It was amusing to see that elf climb him every time Hawke returned to the hold. In comparison, Morrigan never greeted Mordred. She would not be seen running into his arms. She'd never hear the end of it, and she would ever stoop so low. Kieran didn't care, always waiting eagerly by the stairs every time the horn blew to signal someone's return. But now he was going to leave, and he very well may never come back. Something caught in her throat as her eyes moved back to him, noticing that he was looking at her now, arms crossed. Behind him, on the table, was his packed bag ready for the trip. 

They didn't say anything. That would mean they'd lose. But he approached, picking up his grimore and letting it slide to floor as he settled next to her. His weight caused the couch to dip and she slid towards him. She stopped the movement with her hand on his thigh and his hand found hers. As if without their command their fingers intertwined and her heart ached. He shouldn't be going. He knew this, she knew this. Her free hand closed the tome in her lap and it joined his on the ground. They sat in silence, staring at each other, neither giving in nor pulling away. Finally, he raised his other hand, brushing the tips of her bangs from her cheek before his thumb replaced them, tickling her with his coarse skin. He didn't look at her in the eye, watching instead where his thumb brushed her cheek. Her eyes found the faint scar, half hidden by his scruff-turning-beard as she held his wrist with her free hand. It wasn't a sign for him to stop or continue. It was, simply, acknowledgement. She knew he shouldn't be going, and he did as well, but this was the confirmation that if she did protest, he would ignore her. 

Instead, she gave glance to the door that led into Kieran's room. It was closed and there was no flickering light beneath, silent as a grave...When she turned back to him, his lips found hers, soft but pushing. His beard poked at her skin, causing goosebumps to trail down her neck. She kissed back, nipping as his hand cupped her cheek and pulled her closer. He brought their intertwined hands to his chest, pressing the back of her hand to his heart. Her stomach lurched with emotion. They called him a coward, and she saw how they thought of him in their eyes. Weak, selfish, a monster. But if they only knew what he had to protect. Kieran was more important than anything. He knew they only sought him out to kill that blasted archdemon, but he only came for her. Had she been able to navigate out of this hold the Inquisitor had upon her, she would've. In the end, however, she knew that she had to be here in this pit of vipers and dangers. It was dangerous here for Kieran, but it would help save the world, and him. So she came, and then Mordred followed. They called him a coward, but he was willing to sacrifice everything for his son. If they only knew... 

She squeezed his hand gently as their eyes connected for the first time, bright yellow meeting a deep blue, and she sucked in some air before kissing him again. She could not follow to Adamant. And even if she could, she didn't know if she could lay with him again, on the eve of battle, and pretend what they were doing wasn't that dark ritual again. Kieran plagued by nightmares, and horrible dreams, was the result of their own selfishness. She wanted an Old God child, and he wanted to live passed the next dusk. One time ritual indeed. But here, weeks before the actual battle, she could. Here, when it wasn't the fate of each other hanging in the balance, when it was only comfort and a sweet goodbye to last them, she could. 

His eyes were soft for her. Sometimes they weren't, not that it bothered her. They were rarely soft for anyone, and they had more fights than most happy couples. But tonight, they were soft for her, and finally their eyes closed again as the kiss grew deeper. They parted once again, his hand having trailed lower, down her neck, and across her collarbone, when they heard a soft whimper. Morrigan was standing, Mordred forgotten, and she went to the ajar door where Kieran stood. She took him back into bed to banish his nightmares. She heard Mordred moving around outside the room, but her focus was entirely on her son as she comforted him of the nightmares. These ones, it seemed, were simply of a child fearing for his father. Kieran's tears were wet on her fingers, but she continued to wipe them away. Mordred was there, then, sitting on the other side of the bed, framing her son with his parents. 

"Don't go," Kieran begged, clutching his father's arm. "You go and don't come back." Morrigan's heart twisted in her chest, and she brushed Kieran's hair out of his face. She took a glance to Mordred, and saw the anguish in his eyes before he smiled, soft and sweet, and kind. A smile only meant for Kieran, and she felt almost like she was intruding on a moment between father and son only. He didn't have a smile for her. Just a smirk, or a laugh. But not a smile. 

"I'm here now. I haven't not come back yet," he pointed out logically. For any other child that would make no difference, but she saw the hesitation written on her son's face. "Here, I'm going to teach you a spell. It's easy..." As Mordred took off a plain necklace, something he picked up years ago and just decided he liked. He cast something on it before returning it to his neck. He took up Kieran's hand, telling him words to recite. They went through the pronunciation, and while Morrigan knew what spell this was she didn't intervene. "Okay, cast it." 

It was a simple spell, Mordred was right. It was a spell that wouldn't last more than a few months, but he wouldn't be gone, in theory, for that long. As Kieran cast it, he looked up, eyes big and cheeks stained with tears. "I...okay," he said softly, settling at once into the bed. A scrying spell, that allowed Kieran to know where his father was, and how he was faring. But Morrigan knew the words Mordred just taught him. For now, the boy could assume that it was a present-in-time spell. 

"I'll stay until you fall asleep," he promised to the boy who nodded sleepily. Morrigan brushed away the last few stray tears and pressed a kiss to his forehead before she left the room. She stopped in the doorway to see her love still on the bed, watching Kieran as the boy slowly drifted to sleep. She turned and left the room completely to see that he had moved his armor to the table as well, along with the kit to clean it. While she waited, she undressed behind a changing screen, pulling on simple night clothes that suited her before she hesitated then removed them, taking one of his shirts that he deigned to leave behind and put that on instead. She would never rush into his arms, but she didn't see the point of denying herself simple comfort. She washed her face, cleaned under her nails, and took down her hair. She was running her fingers over the scales on his cuirass when she heard the soft click of the door behind her. 

She felt his strong hands on her hips, and his chin on her shoulder. She felt his eyes watching her fingers before she moved her hands, one covering his hand, the other sweeping her hair over her shoulder. His lips found her jaw and she closed her eyes in comfort, in pleasure. His free hand, not covered by hers, moved up her side, cupping her breast and she clenched her teeth in pleasure. Turning her head to kiss him, they backed up to the bed and fell upon it. The wood creaked slightly as they adjusted, her over him. Soft hands and warm kisses trailed all over their bodies, and she hummed quietly in pleasure as his beard tickled and dragged over her skin. They moved beneath the covers. Before, they'd settled over furs and bedrolls, barely covered by the flaps of her tent, set so far from everyone else. Now...now was different. Now was closeness, an awareness. They needed to touch, to feel, to remind each other what was there. 

As she lay with him, moving over him with quiet rotations, their lips constantly kissing, hands holding each other so close, she also believed him when he said he'd come back. He whispered it against her lips, and it was just as damning as "I love you" but she accepted it with her kisses, her touches. As they both chased their pleasure together, she remembered the nights before, where they were more like wolves in their carnal desire. As they wordlessly and soundlessly reached peak together, she slipped her tongue along his lips, his mouth open in ecstasy. She shivered at it all, and soon she was laying beside him, her hair fanned out across his chest. As sleep pressed in around both of them, still clothed as well as covered with the sheets, she whispered into his chest, the hair tickling her cheek and lips, "You're a fool." 

"Yes." 


End file.
